by May Burnett
“It is not a habit with me,” she confessed, “but something unusual is going on here today, and I hoped to find out more.”
“In what way?” He inclined his head questioningly.
Wondering at her lack of reticence with a stranger, no matter how intriguing, Anthea was silent for a moment. Before she could speak, Aunt Helen and Cecily joined them, as well as Uncle Christopher. In the flurry of introductions the question was forgotten. From the way Sir Christopher’s face lit up when it rested on his grandson, and the answering smile on the latter’s face, Anthea could tell how fond they were of each other. She gathered from various remarks that Charles Denham had arrived from the West Indies only to find his grandfather absent from their London home, and had followed him down to Desborough Hall, where her parents had instantly urged him to remain for the rest of the house party.
Peter and Silas, Lady Winstanton and Lady Amberley joined them soon after. Unusually, her parents arrived last, together with Mr and Mrs Durwent. The latter was arrayed in a magnificently dashing dark red evening toilette that did not hide but rather emphasize that she was with child. It had been sewn by a first-rate modiste, most likely the exclusive Celine.
If there really was a family connection, it was not apparent from Mrs. Durwent’s looks. Desboroughs tended to be tall and red blond, like Anthea and her three siblings, while the newcomer was a dark brunette with expressive hazel eyes, and only of medium height. Her husband was half a head taller and soberly dressed, offering an interesting foil to his wife’s elegance.
Before they could troop into the dining room, the Earl called everyone to attention. At last Anthea would get to the bottom of her mother’s mysterious hints.
“As most of you know,” Lord Desborough said in a firm voice, “my first marriage was to my second cousin, Lady Mariah Desborough, the eldest daughter of the sixth earl. She was tragically lost almost thirty years ago, together with our little daughter Madeline.”
The older guests’ eyes turned to Mrs. Durwent in wild surmise.
“After all this time,” Anthea’s father went on, “I can share the joyful news with you, that my first-born daughter has at last been found and restored to the family. Mrs. Durwent is in fact Lady Madeline Durwent, the former Lady Madeline Desborough.”
There was a stunned silence.
“My sister?” Anthea asked. Since the others seemed immobilized by surprise, she stepped forward and kissed Mrs. Durwent on both cheeks.
“Hello,” Mrs Durwent said in a soft voice. “You must be Anthea?”
“Yes. And this is my – our – brother, Peter. Lord Minton outside the family.”
Peter looked from Anthea to Mrs. Durwent sceptically. “You don’t look like us at all.”
The oaf. Anthea surreptitiously kicked him on the ankle.
“There is not the slightest doubt,” Lord Desborough told his heir.
Thus admonished, Peter shook the lady’s hand vigorously, though his expression resembled that of a stuffed frog. The other family members and guests one by one came forward with varying degrees of enthusiasm and curiosity.
Silas waited until the immediate family had greeted the new member, his bow just barely acceptable. He did not look happy, and neither did his mother, Lady Winstanton.
Seeing all the attention focused on her new sister, Anthea went to talk to Mr Durwent, her husband, but before they had exchanged more than a few sentences, Silas came up behind her and held her arm possessively.
“I have heard of you,” he said. “Aren’t you the owner of that new club, the Charybdis?”
“Not the sole owner, merely one of the partners. It is one of my smaller ventures.”
“You are in trade,” Silas said, looking down his long nose at the older man. Anthea could have shaken him, except that he was too tall and bulky for that to have done the slightest good.
“Yes, and proud of it,” Durwent said equably. “While any man can lose money and spend what he inherited, I can make and multiply it. It is a very useful knack.”
Silas’s mouth turned down in a sneer. Before he could voice some unpleasant taunt, Anthea hastily said, “How did you meet my sister, Mr. Durwent? I am very curious to know all about her life. I had been told she perished long ago, and I am very happy to learn otherwise.”
Durwent smiled at her. He had a charming smile.
“You are more naïve than I thought,” Silas said in a low voice. “Anthea, think what this means.”
“It means I have another sister,” she said stiffly. “Anything else is of secondary importance.”
“I like you,” Durwent said. “I hope you and Cherry will be friends, despite the difference in age.”
“I am nineteen, how old is she?”
”Thirty, just like myself.”
“She looks younger.” Anthea would not have thought her new sister a day over twenty-seven. “And I hope we can also be friends, Mr. Durwent,” she continued boldly.
“Jonathan,” he said, “as it seems I am your brother-in-law.”
“Then you must call me Anthea.”
Silas had listened to this exchange with a disapproving scowl. But if she allowed him to dictate on such matters now, while they were merely engaged, he would think he could do so all through their marriage. Better begin as she meant to go on.
Realising she would not heed him Silas gave her an annoyed look, and abruptly moved away.
There was an awkward moment when Jonathan was presented to the dowager Lady Amberley.
“Durwent,” she said as though pronouncing the name of some disease.
He bowed. “You may have heard my name from your son James, who is one of my oldest friends and associates.”
“Hmmpfh.” Anthea had not realized she was so high in the instep.
“I am also well acquainted with your daughter, Lady Minerva, and her husband,” Durwent went on blandly.
“How do you do,” the Countess said in an expressionless voice. Anthea wondered what could be behind her coolness.
“And this is another new arrival, Mr. Charles Denham.” Her father sounded impatient to get to the end of all these introductions. Lady Amberley was distinctly more gracious to that young man. After all, his grandfather was an old friend, and the Denhams had long moved in the first circles.
Dinner was announced a minute later. Lady Madeline had been placed next to father, in the place of honour, understandable under the circumstances. Anthea found Mr. Durwent seated next to her.
“How did you meet my sister?” she asked him again, over the soup course.
“It was a most fortunate chance. I had to travel to a small town near Norwich on family business. It turned out that Cherry was the adoptive sister of a close relative. She had been widowed not long before, and our marriage was as providential as it has been happy so far.”
“Cherry? I thought her name was Madeline.”
“Since your sister went astray before she could speak, nobody knew her real name. The people who adopted her, Mr and Mrs Trellisham, named her Charity, and the children shortened that to Cherry.”
“They had more children?”
“Yes, a daughter of their own, and another little girl, all around the same age. Cherry is very attached to her sisters.”
“So she already has sisters? Now she has me and Irmaline as well.”
“Irmaline? Is that the name of your younger sister?”
“Yes, she is thirteen. She will be very excited to learn of this discovery; I shall introduce her and my little brother William to your wife – Cherry –tomorrow morning, unless Mother does it herself. William is nine, and will soon go to Eton.”
“If you have no objection, I shall tag along as well. Right now I have a particular interest in children.”
“There is a great difference between babies and older children,” Anthea pointed out, “in fact sometimes they change so drastically, that it seems a different person has taken their place.”
“Probably the origin of the changeling myth,” he agreed
with a smile.
“For instance, my brother Peter is very different now from the boy who shared the nursery with me.” And he had not changed for the better, alas.
“He is only what, twenty-one, twenty-two? That is not the end of the changes he will undergo.”
“What were you doing at twenty-two, Mr Dur – I mean – Jonathan?
“I had already come down from Oxford and was beginning to work in the City, living modestly but full of ambitious plans.”
Anthea could well imagine it. Durwent had probably worked harder than Peter would during his entire lifetime. Since college, where he had fallen in with a crowd of hard drinking and betting fellows, her brother seemed intent on merely enjoying life, and being as useless and obnoxious as possible for a wealthy and titled young man.
Her glance went to Silas, seated at her mother’s side. At twenty-seven he was older than Peter and had appeared more mature during their courtship in London, but was he any more useful, really? Did he put any other creature’s welfare and happiness above his own, including hers? She could not answer the question to her satisfaction.
At the other end of the table, Charles Denham was talking with animation to her cousin Cecily. What interest could he share with that inveterate bookworm? They seemed to get on excellently well with each other. Of course Denham was an open-hearted and friendly young man, judging from the little she had seen of him. He might well have inherited his grandfather’s open and generous nature.
On the other hand … Silas was a Viscount. His wife would be a lady of consequence in society, and the mistress of a historic estate so large that she need not see him all that often. And of course there was also the big London house.
Her green ring sparkled in the light of the wax candles. She had what dozens of girls had coveted during the mad race of the London Season: one of the main prizes held out to this year’s debutantes. She felt proud and happy, of course she did. What use was winning if you did not take enjoyment in the spoils?
A dinner was not the time for lengthy reflection. As Lady Winstanton on Jonathan’s other side was still conversing with Sir Christopher, it behoved her to entertain her partner as best she could. Anthea pasted a determined smile on her face. “If your child is a son, to which school do you plan to send him, Jonathan?”
Chapter 7
A good conversationalist goes through life much more smoothly.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, by A Lady, London 1823
Charles immediately liked Miss Trevor – Cecily, as her family called her. She was the kind of woman he had imagined as his future helpmeet – sensible, well-read, and conversable. Yet perversely his eyes were drawn several times towards the blonde he had met just before that extraordinary scene preceding dinner, Lady Anthea Desborough. She looked delicious in a blue evening dress that echoed the vivid colour of her long-lashed eyes. He could not remember when a girl had made such a strong first impression on him.
He had expected conversation at dinner to focus on the unexpected return of the eldest daughter, but Miss Trevor quizzed him about the social customs and geography of the West Indies, and compared his answers with several books on the subject she had read and retained in surprising detail. Her memory must be prodigious.
For all her bluestocking tendencies, Miss Trevor did not fail to notice the direction of his reluctant interest. “My cousin Anthea is engaged to Lord Winstanton, over there,” she said in friendly warning. “They are to be married in January.”
He might have known. The prettiest girls were always picked out right away.
“Your cousin, Miss Trevor? How exactly are you related?”
“Our mothers are sisters. Lady Desborough is my aunt Hester, and my mother, Mrs. Trevor, is Anthea’s aunt Helen. Anthea and I have spent much of our childhood together.”
“I see. Then you, Miss Trevor, are not related to Lady Madeline.”
“No, not directly. But I look forward to knowing her better.”
“Lord Minton does not seem to share your desire,” Charles ventured. “I was struck by the contrast in reactions. Lady Anthea was very gracious, while he –,“ he stopped, it would be bad manners to criticize his hosts’ son. “He still does not look happy, and neither does Lord Winstanton. Yet surely this joyous news cannot materially affect them.”
“It might,” Miss Trevor said thoughtfully. “You may not be aware of the family history. The sixth earl had a son and two daughters. The younger eventually married the Duke of Ottway. The older, Lady Mariah, was the toast of her season and had many avid suitors.”
“I can believe it; her daughter Mrs Durwent, or rather Lady Madeline, is a most attractive woman.”
“Is she? In what way?”
Charles found it difficult to put his impression into words. “The eyes mostly, I think. None of her features in itself is out of the ordinary, and yet she has a magnetism of which any red-blooded man must immediately be sensible.”
“Interesting.” Miss Trevor speared a piece of asparagus with her fork. “From all accounts, her mother possessed that same magnetism. Before Lady Mariah could settle on a suitor, her brother died tragically in a duel. I have no idea what it was about – nobody wants to say, if they even know. In his shock her father suffered a stroke, from which he never recovered.”
“How sad.” Charles gestured to the footman to replenish Miss Trevor’s glass.
“That duel made Anthea’s father the heir to the Earldom, quite unexpectedly. He was a guard officer at the time, only a Lieutenant, and barely twenty-two. The old Earl insisted on a marriage between him and his older daughter, so that the fortune should not be divided, and the future earls still his direct descendants.”
“I wonder how the young couple felt about that,” Charles commented. “Such arranged marriages, especially after a tragedy in the family, are rarely conducive to happiness.”
“Exactly. Soon after her father’s death the young Countess disappeared without a trace, supposedly with a lover. For thirty years, neither she nor her child were ever heard of again. If Mrs Durwent is that child,” she said speculatively, “then they will also have discovered what became of the mother.”
“It must be an unhappy subject for the surviving family. Still, how would his sister’s return affect Lord Minton?”
“If the sixth Earl settled his private fortune on Lady Mariah, it could make a great difference to his prospects. He may also worry if his parents’ marriage is even legal, if the first wife survived longer than supposed. In the worst case, he could lose everything.”
Charles shook his head. “Your uncle would hardly have taken such a risk.”
“No, and Aunt Hester looks quite serene and unworried. I am sure it can be nothing of the kind.”
“I know my grandfather is an old friend,“ Charles said. “Is Lady Amberley related to the Desborough family? I have met her younger son James before I left for the West Indies, though I cannot remember the exact occasion. Lord Amberley is married to a Wetherby, isn’t he?”
“Yes, Marianne is the current Lord Pell’s sister, but I have never met her. During my first season she was travelling in Greece, and then she was delivered of a daughter, so she has not been as active in society as in previous years. The dowager Lady Amberley is Lord Desborough’s first cousin on his mother’s side, and close to his own age.”
“Ah.” Most aristocratic houses were related some way or another. “She seems to be on excellent terms with my grandfather.”
“I imagine they have known each other for several decades. She is rather careful about her acquaintances and friends, however, and can be freezing to those she deems unworthy.”
Charles recalled Lady Amberley’s greeting of Mr Durwent. Maybe his grandfather could have a word with the woman, to make her unbend a little in Christian charity.
“What are your own plans and prospects, Mr Denham, now that you are back from your assignment in the West Indies?” Miss Trevor asked. “Do you look forward to some other posting in a more h
ospitable climate?”
Charles shook his head. “I learned a great deal about the world and myself, but I am done with such work, and plan to remain in England. As for my future plans, I have some ideas, but will discuss them with my grandfather before I can make up my mind.”
“Whatever they are, I am sure you will succeed. I envy you. Even were you not blessed with a fortune, as a healthy and educated man you would have a wide choice of possible careers.”
Charles heard what she did not say. “While a woman of equal accomplishment has a far smaller number of paths to choose from,” he supplied. “It is unfair, I quite agree. Possibly in future years this may change, but not quickly. Society is very conservative.”
She stared at him. “You agree it is unfair? You must be the only man in this house to ever say or think so.”
“My philosophy is to let everyone be happy in their own fashion. There are far too many unnecessary restrictions that hamper us in reaching that simple goal, for men and women both.”
“Indeed,” Miss Trevor assented, and fell silent for a while. Charles cut and ate some of the tender roast beef. There must be a first-rate cook reigning in the Hall’s kitchens, not that he would have expected anything less.
“I am to be bridesmaid at Anthea’s wedding,” Miss Trevor returned to her earlier subject. “Since I am her senior by a year, my mother is not pleased at all.” From the tone it was clear that neither was she.
“Surely the most important thing is your cousin’s happiness on that day,” Charles said gently. “It does not seem a great sacrifice.”
“If I could only be certain that her happiness will last beyond the wedding day.”
“Nobody can be certain of that,” he pointed out, unsurprised by her open speaking. Like his grandfather, he had always attracted confidences from the most unexpected quarters. It was their family talent, and a responsibility that must not be abused. He had learned discretion at an early age.
“One can gauge the likelihood, more or less. I strongly feel that Lord Winstanton is not good enough for my cousin,” Miss Trevor asserted.
